A Woman of Passion (22 page)

A
t Chelsea, Lady Frances and her daughters were in the gallery, surrounded by sewing women. Bess sat in an arched bay window making sketches of the costumes being considered for the New Year's masque at Hampton Court.

“I need something to cover my bulk, and let me warn you I wouldn't be caught dead dressed as a shepherdess,” Frances said.

“What about a medieval lady?” Bess made a quick design of a wimple.

“Well that's certainly better than Botticelli's Venus, though that would be perfect for you, Bess, with your red hair.”

Bess looked uncertain. “I believe masks and disguises lend themselves to licentious behavior. The flimsy dress of a goddess might invite unwanted advances.”

“I've got it! Oh, my idea is so sly, you will love it. I shall wear the black habit of a mother superior, and you can be my novitiate in white.”

“That
is
deliciously, wickedly sly.”
It will send a message
to all that I am chaste and to William that I intend to remain so!

“I want to be a butterfly,” Catherine piped up.

“Then so you shall.” Bess sketched a costume whose sleeves were delicate, fluttering wings.

“I think Jane should be a bookworm,” Catherine whispered.

“You have inherited your mother's sly wit, my poppet.”

The Greys went by carriage from Chelsea to Hampton. Long-suffering Henry, going along with his wife's religious theme, had agreed to be a friar.

“When Rogue learned you'd browbeaten me into being Friar Tuck, I suggested he be Robin Hood. He told me where I could go, rather rudely. Said he'd wear his black riding leathers.”

“Well I think Robin Hood was a clever suggestion, since Cavendish steals from the poor to give to the rich! Bess, where is my eye mask? I don't wish to be recognized.”

“Then you will have to keep your mouth shut, Frances, my dear,” Henry warned. “Your caustic tongue will be your undoing.”

“I'll be defrocked … God willing!”

Hampton Court had been turned into a fairy-tale palace. Hundreds of torches and thousands of candles illuminated the chambers decorated with holly, mistletoe, gilded cherubs, and archangels. The crush of revelers filled the rooms and galleries to overflowing. Frances elbowed her way through musicians, liveried servants carrying trays of wine and marchpane, and merrymakers disguised in elaborate costumes.

There was a huge dais set up at the end of the Long Gallery for the king and queen and the royal family. Frances had Bess bent double with laughter at her witticisms. “I can't believe how bloody apt these costumes are. Look at that turban! The king thinks he's the Sultan of Baghdad, and if any man had a harem, it's Harry!”

“Isn't that the admiral dressed as a pirate?” Bess asked, unable to contain her amusement.

“You'd think he'd have more brains than to advertise his piracy. He's the biggest looter on the high seas.”

Bess looked in vain for the Lady Elizabeth and concluded that she was too well-disguised to be recognized. She accepted an invitation to dance with a crusader and learned that it was Lord Thomas Darcy, a rich and noble bachelor who was much sought after. When an antlered stag turned out to be Guildford Dudley, Robin's brother, Bess couldn't stop laughing.

“I'm devastated,” he murmured. “You're covered from your temples to your toes. I'd hoped for something much more revealing.”

“How did you recognize me?” Bess demanded. “I undressed you with my eyes, of course.” “Knave!” Bess jabbed him with the cross that hung about her neck.

“Stop acting like an animal,” Robin Dudley admonished his brother. Costumed as the king of beasts, Robin wore a magnificent lion's mane, topped by a crown. His brother Ambrose was a wolf.

“Where is the Lady Elizabeth?” Bess asked.

“Still upstairs, trying to raise her courage.”

“Surely her costume cannot be that outrageous?”

“Wait and see,” Robin said, laughing.

“What disguise did Father decide on?” Ambrose asked.

“I have no idea,” Robin said, “but I warrant he'll be up on the dais with the king. Let's go and look.”

Bess saw with amusement that the Lady Mary was dressed as a simple shepherdess. How Frances would mock her! Suddenly, like a play being acted out for the audience, the shepherdess lost control of her long crook. She made a grab for it that resulted in its hooking the Sultan of Baghdad's turban. The sultan cursed and, when he reached to retrieve it, inadvertently jabbed the other end of the crook into his bad leg.

Henry Tudor roared with pain, and the shepherdess began to cry. Queen Catherine Parr, wearing a medieval wimple, rushed forward to assess the damage. She received the brunt of Henry's rage and bore it with great fortitude. It was decided that the king would retire from the revels, and Lord John Dudley and Lord Edward Seymour helped the wounded monarch to bed.

Within minutes of her father's departure, Elizabeth put in her appearance. It took Bess awhile to realize that the half-clad female in the blond wig was indeed the princess.

“Don't you recognize me? I'm Circe, who transformed men into beasts.”

Bess looked from the girl wearing only a golden wisp of material, which exposed the nipples on her small, high breasts, to the grinning Dudley brothers.

“Your Grace, you are courting scandal,” Bess said in a low voice.

“We can't all be nuns! Besides, no one will recognize me.”

“I
recognize you.” The Lady Mary looked outraged. “I am ashamed to call you sister. Your mother wore that costume when she was my father's concubine!”

“You bitch—my mother was his
queen
!”

Mary Tudor's poisonous glance fell on Bess. “How dare you mock me and the Catholic Church with your blasphemous attire? The king shall hear of this.”

“At this moment my poor wounded father wishes you in hell alongside your mother!” Elizabeth spat.

Robin Dudley grabbed Elizabeth around the waist and forcibly moved her away.

Bess was upset. Elizabeth was acting recklessly, and she herself should have had more good sense than to dress up in religious attire. Her cheeks were burning, the room was overheated, and her novitiate's habit was stifling. Bess needed fresh air and made her way toward the doors that led to a balcony.

With relief she saw the man clad in black riding leathers coming toward her. The only concession to a costume that he wore was a slouch hat and a black eye mask.

“Rogue, where have you been? I need some air.”

He took her hand and led her out onto the balcony. “What's amiss, my little nun?”

“Lud, I should never have worn this novitiate's robe. I thought I was being clever, showing you I would remain chaste, but I have outraged Princess Mary.”

“Hush.” He cupped her face in his hands and bent his head to capture her lips.

Bess yielded her mouth and melted against him, feeling secure in the circle of his powerful arms. “Oh, I wish you weren't wed to another.”

“So do I,” he murmured against her lips.

Bess began to shiver. The winter night was extremely cold, and after the warmth of the crowded rooms, she was suddenly covered with gooseflesh. “I'm freezing,” she said, taking his hand and drawing him back through the French doors.

Across the Long Gallery Bess caught sight of another man in black riding leathers. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she recognized that it was William Cavendish. In dismay she swung around to look at her escort. Now she realized that he was taller than William and had wider shoulders. “Who the devil are you?” she demanded furiously.

He grinned down at her. “Don't worry, Vixen, even I wouldn't violate a nun.” Then he walked away.

Cavendish saw her and cut through the crowd. “Was that George Talbot in riding leathers?”

“Yes! He makes me want to spew!” Bess said passionately.

“Don't swallow your rosary beads, sweetheart. Whatever has upset you?”

“Oh, Rogue, please take me home. I'm having a miserable time.”

“Come on, then. It isn't yet midnight, and I want to give you your New Year's gift.” He put his arm about her to keep her warm as they ran across the courtyard to his carriage. He lifted her inside, climbed in after her, then drew her back into his arms. Her lips were cold as ice when he kissed her, but his mouth soon warmed them.

“I know what will make you hot,” he whispered.

“No, Rogue, please,” Bess protested.

“I'm teasing you! Here, open this.”

Bess removed the lid from a large box and gasped with delight. The light from the courtyard torches reflected on the sheen of silver-fox pelts. She lifted the fur cloak and saw that it was lined with amethyst velvet. Bess pulled it around her immediately and blew upon the silvery fur, reveling in its luxury. “I love it! It's the first fur I've ever owned.”

“It won't be the last,” he promised.

She lifted her lips for his kiss.

“Happy New Year, Bess.”

“Happy New Year, William.” She snuggled against him, and as the carriage started to move, she proceeded to tell him of the evening's disasters. Soon he had her laughing, and she realized that one of the things she loved about him was that he saw the amusing side of every situation. Suddenly, she didn't want to go back to Suffolk House. She wanted to stay in the safe, warm cocoon of the carriage and watch the new year dawn.

Rogue sighed. He had hoped the fur would persuade her to relent and put an end to their celibacy. Resignedly, he instructed his driver to take them to Richmond Hill with its spectacular view, where they could watch the sunrise over the Thames Valley and welcome in the dawning of the brand new year of 1547.

It was the last week of January before Cavendish saw Bess again. He'd had to go into Hertfordshire on the Crown's business, to inquire into disputed leases of the Abbey of St. Albans. In addition to his secretary, he took his team of surveyors, because the lands and property owned by St. Albans were vast, much of it leased out in an effort to keep the Church coffers filled. The Church lands extended as far as Northaw, which boasted a lovely country manor house where Sir William and his men were given hospitality.

Whenever he was away from London, Bess was never far from William's thoughts. He knew he had rivals who were free to offer her the security of marriage, and he wished he had the means to bind her more closely. As he surveyed the Northaw manor house, Cavendish wondered
if he had found the solution to his dilemma. Gifts of jewels and furs had certainly not been the answer.

He recalled the day they met and how she was incensed that her home had been taken away when she was a child and how she longed to have a house of her own. William remembered her words exactly:
Don't laugh at me, sir. I
shall
have my own household!

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was. Bess had never given herself to him because she needed the security of marriage. She had suffered insecurity all her life and needed a safe haven. Perhaps that was even part of the reason she was attracted to him. He was an older man with a certain wealth and power and was experienced in the ways of the world.

Cavendish decided to do nothing until Bess had seen Northaw for herself. If she fell in love with it, he would find the means of acquiring it for the two of them.

Cavendish arrived at Suffolk House in time to dine with the Greys. Thomas Seymour was also there, giving them the news that the king had finally appointed him to the privy council. The meal was extremely merry, with many toasts of congratulations.

By the time dinner was over, it was apparent to the admiral that Bess had not divulged his dalliance with Elizabeth to either the Greys or Cavendish, and he was relieved. Thomas kissed Bess's hand with gratitude and murmured, “I am so pleased that we are friends who know the value of discretion.” He turned to Cavendish and placed Bess's hand in his. “You are a lucky man, William. The lady refuses to be seduced, though I have tried my damnedest.”

William steered Bess to the relative privacy of a drawing room. “Have you had much chance to ride lately?”

She hoped he wasn't questioning with whom she had ridden. “We rode every day at Chelsea, though we seldom went farther than the park. I miss my long rides over the Derbyshire fells and moors.”

“Would you like to ride out with me, Bess?”

“Why, I would love it!” Her dark, almond-shape eyes took on an excited sparkle.

“I'd like you to come to St. Albans. I'm handling a dispute over the abbey's land leases. It's a long ride, about eighteen miles,” he warned.

Bess suddenly looked uncertain.

“Is that too far in this brisk weather?”

“No, no, it isn't that, Rogue.” She gave him a level look and told him honestly how she felt. “I don't relish watching you crush a religious order beneath the heel of your jackboot, even if it is by the king's order.”

“Bess, sweetheart, I can't believe you know so little about me. I don't use bullying tactics; I use the golden spur.”

She looked at him blankly.

“Little innocent. The golden spur is a bribe. It's what makes me so successful at what I do. It's the oil that smooths away the difficulties in every negotiation I undertake.”

“Surely you are not telling me that priests and nuns take bribes?”

“Of course not!” The amusement came back into his eyes. “The abbots and abbesses at the heads of these orders, however, are a different breed. Dealing with them successfully requires a deft touch; I succeed at what I do, where many others have failed.”

Bess laughed. “You are a damned rogue!”

“Come with me and I'll show you how I go about my business.”

The excitement was back in her eyes. “I'll be ready at dawn!”

“Treasury business keeps me in London tomorrow; the following day will be better.” He slipped his arm about her and hugged her close. “I'm glad to see you are so eager for new experiences.”

Bess blushed, knowing this was another step in the mating dance.

Two days later the small riding party was blessed with late January sunshine on their ride to St. Albans. William's secretary, Robert Bestnay, accompanied them. They took the main road north, and the city of London soon gave way to the patchwork fields of the gentle countryside.